


Saving Grace: Extreme Case Hoarders

by CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Asshole!John, Guilt, Hoarding, M/M, Responsibility, drunk!John, just four years but at a stage where thats enough to be a little questionable, surrogate!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper/pseuds/CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The Winchester family has been living in this three bedroom home ever since the top floor of their last residence burned down nearly 15 years ago. At only nineteen years old, Dean has already taken on most of the responsibility around the household.  He is generally the one who does the cooking, the book keeping, and even taking care of little brother Sammy.  He also tries to keep things as clean as he can, which is kind of difficult... seeing as his father, John, has had a severe hoarding problem ever since that fire claimed the life of the boys' mother, Mary."</p><p>The house has gotten out of control.  There's only so much that Dean can do, and it looks like he's finally reached his limit.  Not to mention now that Bobby knows, their secret won't stay secret for much longer.  Dean only has one option left - he calls in the professionals.  This is the story of how a TV show changes one home, two families, and three lives, forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Grace: Extreme Case Hoarders

**Author's Note:**

> So this was going to be a one-shot, except I got to a good stopping point and realized I'd almost hit 20,000 words. Needless to say, it is now at least a two-shot. Updating may be a few weeks between, but it will happen. Also, trying out a new POV style (for this chapter at least, given the concept of the story) so let me know if it works/didn't work for you! Anyway, this is my baby, and the most I've written like, ever, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> One more thing: Hoarding is a very serious condition, and not one to be brushed aside lightly. For the sake of the plot and direction of this work of fiction, actions are taken by the "crew" that I would never advocate (I.E., clearing of a home and items without getting the actual hoarder's/homeowner's clear consent, etc.). Please bear in mind that many artistic liberties were taken with the depiction of hoarding and the responses to it, by someone who has never been directly affecting by it. Also, John is an asshole in this because John is just kind of an asshole in this, it is not intended to be a comment on those with or affected by hoarding issues.

“No one was ever supposed to find out,” Dean addresses the camera trained on his face and shoulders, skin pale and drawn against the plain white background of the confessional. He rubs the back of his neck self consciously, arm darting into the frame and revealing a little bit more of the blurred logo of his black t-shirt. The scene cuts to the inside of a medium sized home, panning over a living room piled two feet deep with trash and beer cans and old clothes. Sealed moving boxes are interspersed among the mess, serving as bases for towers of clothing, notebooks, and other various items collected over the course of the past few years. In the middle of the room is a recliner, the cushion of which is the only clear spot in the area. It sits next to a junk piled sofa and what was once an impressive wooden desk but is now stained and covered in old newspapers, cardboard beer cartons, and scattered pictures - some with frames, some without. A computer sits half-buried beneath the desk’s clutter, with a mouse and keyboard peeking out from underneath a few empty potato chip bags and and an old sweatshirt. One roach scurries out from the chip bag. The camera continues along the right wall and down the connected hall, the already narrow path made even tighter by the boxes piled along the walls. Just like the living room, garbage and various small items cover the floor. Dean’s voice continues over the clip.

“We were both pretty embarrassed. It... it always bothered Sam the most.” On screen, Dean is shown carefully picking his way through an equally cluttered kitchen. The floor is covered in similar fashion to the living room, with pots and pans both functional and useless alike taking over the once ample counter space. Between the pots and pans are sealed canisters of food, mismatched silverware, and more trash. The small kitchen table and chairs bear more boxes, some open and spilling over with their contents, others closed and straining at their corners. The weak wood groans under its heavy load as Dean leans on the table to help hop over a particularly uneven pile of stuff on the floor. As his feet plant in the trash on the other side there is an audible crunch, and Dean lifts his shoe to reveal brown glass from a discarded beer bottle embedded in the thick rubber sole of his boot. The scene cuts back to Dean in front of the white background. He shrugs, eyes darting everywhere but forward to the camera in front of him.

“We wear our shoes all the time in the house, and we’re careful where we step.” Briefly, the camera cuts to Dean leaning against the dingy fridge and nonchalantly pulling the glass from his boot before it returns to his close up in the confessional.

“It’s not safe,” he mutters, eyes downcast . “I know it’s not, but I didn’t know what else I could do, you know? Except,” Dean’s shoulders drop in resignation. “Except, live with it.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’re going to fucking _watch_ that,” Sam sneers as he tosses his backpack into the closet, kicks off his shoes, and face plants at the bottom of the large bed in the center of the room.

“Oh c’mon,” his buddy Andy laughs from the head of the mattress, tucked in tightly amongst snotty tissues and comic books. “I threw up more food than I ate today, I get to pick what I wanna watch. Besides, you’ve gotta have some kind of sick, twisted curiosity about how it all went.” Sam snorts derisively, but he turns his head to see Andy’s TV propped up on an old dresser and playing the opening strains of the Hoarders intro.

“Fuck,” Andy hisses under his breath as the various rooms of Sam’s house pop up on screen. “I didn’t realize it was that bad, dude.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughs humorlessly. “Now you know why I made you swear not to tell anyone.”

“Well it’s kind of too late for that now, don’t you think? At least a quarter of the school watches this show, and once a single person recognizes your brother, it’ll be all over campus by Monday.” Sam groans into the bedspread.

“I can’t fucking believe Dean did this to me,” he moans, pulling his legs up onto the bed and shuffling up the mattress until he was seated next to his friend.

“At least the house is clean now, right? I mean, it sucks that he’s _literally_ airing out your dirty laundry, but at least they’re getting something done, you know?”

“Whatever,” Sam grumbles. “I don’t care what they do to the house. I haven’t even been in it since Dean told me they were going to do a fucking show about it and I moved in with you. The bigger issue is, socially? I’m done for. Lilith is gonna get her grubby little mitts on this episode and make the rest of the school year living hell. Fuck, probably the rest of high school. Shit, Andy, dude, we gotta change school districts.” Andy tosses a dirty tissue at Sam, who stares at the offending object now in his lap in disgust.

“It’s not that bad, drama queen.” Gingerly, Sam picks the tissue up by the corner and drops it into the waste bin by Andy’s nightstand. “At least Dean seems to understand how it feels for you, being embarrassed about it and all.”

“If he understood how I felt, he wouldn’t have put our family on this fucking show,” Sam argues, crossing his arms over his chest as his brother leads the camera crew through the kitchen.

“I don’t know, dude,” Andy sighs, leaning back into the massive pile of pillows propping him up in his seated position. “From the looks of that mess, it doesn’t really seem like he had that much of a choice. What else was he supposed to do, you know?” Sam just huffs, falling silent beside his friend as the show cuts to a commercial, and lets Andy ramble on about the weird anti-inflammatory induced hallucination he had. Sam is pretty sure that those sorts of drugs don’t work that way, but it gives him something else to focus on for a while.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel Milton’s iconic, easy-going voice narrates over a panoramic shot of the outside of a modest, one story house with gray, flaking paint and steadily browning grass.

“The Winchester family has been living in this three bedroom home ever since the top floor of their last residence burned down nearly 15 years ago.” The scene cuts to the inside of the building, camera worming between piles of stuff as it follows the floor-plan from the nearly inaccessible living room with it’s barely visible couch and down the packed hallway, into a large bedroom. Gabriel continues speaking as the camera pans from left to right over the area.

“What was once a stately master bedroom now seems to be nothing more than storage, for old clothes, cardboard boxes, and aluminum cans. Half of the mattress disappears beneath fabric and beer cartons, piled almost to the headboard on the right side of the room. Along that same wall, the beautiful bay window is blocked by by towering moving boxes, still completely sealed.” As the camera doubles back to the left, John Winchester comes out of the attached bathroom and picks his way across the debris to the clear side of his mattress and sits down. He grabs a battered pair of boots out from under an old beer crate with the brand blurred out.

“I don’t see what the g------ problem is,” John gruffly addresses the camera in the confessional, shoulders shifting as he leans back. “Who gives a s--- if it’s messy. It’s not like we can’t get around the d--- house well enough as it is. It works. And it’s not like we’ve got anybody to f---ing impress anyway.” The camera cuts backs to John tugging on his boots and stomping down the narrow hallway. He doesn’t bother watching where he places his feet, just packing down the clutter wherever he steps. In the living room, he hollers for Dean.

“I don’t think Dad understands how bad it’s really gotten,” Dean fidgets in the confessional chair as he addresses the camera. His voice continues playing over the scene as he arrives in the living room. John seems to be snapping at him, gesticulating wildly. “There’s not anyone to impress because Sam and I never wanted anyone to see. No one gets invited over for... for dinner, or sleepovers... we’re just too embarrassed.” The audio of the current scene fills back in as Dean finishes, and the end of his and John’s conversation is caught.

“-and go over to the Gallagher’s and check on your brother. I don’t want him falling behind in school just because he’s throwing this little temper tantrum.” John grabs a duffel bag and throws it over his shoulder, walking out to the driveway and getting in his beat up truck. The pick-up peals out of the drive, wheels spinning and kicking up gravel, and the camera cuts back to Dean puttering as best he can around the cramped and cluttered kitchen.

“Fifteen year old Sam is the youngest member of the Winchester family,” Gabriel’s voiceover continues. “And so far seems to have been most affected by the state of the house. He is currently staying at a friend’s home, per his request not to be filmed.”

“It’s definitely been the hardest for Sam,” Dean says as he squeezes in around the old, crumbling table piled high with junk and searches the collection of pots and pans along the counter. He finds a useable pan and reaches one hand into the fridge, gingerly pulling out a tupperware full of eggs. “I mean, Sammy’s at that age where he should be worrying about zits and girls thinking he’s cute and having awesome sleepover parties at his house with all his nerdy little buddies, not about keeping his friends from finding out where he lives, or stumbling over something on the way back to his room at night after he’s been out at the mall or something all day, avoiding the house.” Gabriel layers back in as Dean cracks an egg on the side of the pan and fries it up on the only unobscured burner of the rusting stove.

“At only nineteen years old, Dean has already taken on most of the responsibility around the household. He is generally the one who does the cooking, the book keeping, and even taking care of little brother Sammy. He also tries to keep certain things as clean as he can.”

“Yeah, I uh... I try to keep the kitchen from getting too bad with like, bugs and stuff,” Dean says as he grabs one the dented pans and squashes a small cockroach crawling towards the stove. He grimaces as he picks up the old envelope it splattered across, and puts it over on the far end of the counter. “I’ve never seen more than maybe four or five at a time, and only really in the kitchen. Sometimes, I’ll see like, one every so often in the living room, so... I know most folks living like this have a lot bigger bug problems, but still it’s... it’s pretty gross.” Dean motions to the tightly sealed tupperware with the eggs. “Anyway, I try to keep the food safe as best I can, instead of letting it sit around in cardboard and plastic that’s easier for them to get in to.” Dean grabs an english muffin from a metal canister on the counter and slides the finished egg onto the bun. He sets it aside for a moment as he reseals the containers and opens up the fridge. Only three bugs skitter about, startled, as Dean puts the eggs back. The shelves are filled with various foods - lunchmeat, cheese, mostly takeout leftovers - in tight containers of different sizes and brands.

“There’s a lot of tupperware and stuff,” he continues, grabbing a paper towel from the roll lying across one of the piles of cardboard cartons and uses it to catch the drips from his sandwich as he forgoes the useless table entirely, leaning against the counter as he eats instead. “But the food stays clean and safe. I also try to pick up as much as I can, but I’m usually at work pretty late during the week and don’t have much time to make any real headway, so the most I can do is just check the food after I get home, and make sure nothing that can get gross is left out.”

“Dean’s done pretty well, actually,” the local exterminator, Rufus Turner, tells the camera in the confessional. His rumpled khaki jumpsuit with it’s hand sewn name tag gives off an air of disheveled professionalism, while his brows are raised in both surprise and admiration for Dean’s efforts. The next shot shows Dean letting Rufus in and leading him into the kitchen.

“Usually,” Rufus’ voiceover continues as he pokes around the area, scaring two roaches out from under an old dish washing glove and another from behind the fridge. “Houses in this condition are teeming with the little a--holes. In a typical mess like this, I usually find hordes, anywhere from a couple hundred to the thousands - full blown infestations.” The camera returns to Rufus against the white background. “This is a remarkably manageable bug problem for a hoard this - what?” Rufus looks off screen for a moment, confused. “Oh.... I can’t say a--holes?”

 

* * *

 

“Your Dad’s kind of an asshole.”

“You’re just now figuring this out?” Sam, half-absorbed in a textbook and focusing the rest of his attention on eating his recently acquired sandwich, scoffs at Andy and glances back up at the TV.

“Well, I mean, I knew he was kind of a dick from when I met him, but this shit? How does he not see the problem?” Sam just shrugs, chewing absent-mindedly as the camera pans through the familiar mess of his house.

“I’m just glad no one’s made me go back yet. Apparently, Dad and Dean got into an argument, and they’re too busy being mad at each other right now to worry about dragging me home.”

“You don’t think it’s still like that, do you?” Andy asks, staring wide-eyed at all of the crap through the hall and living room. “I mean, when they go on these shows, shit gets cleaned up, right?”

“There’s no guarantee of that with Dad,” Sam frowns as their father yells for Dean on screen. “God only knows what he actually let the crew get done. If he fucked off somewhere and moped, then maybe, but if he stuck around? The only things that will have changed will be a few new bruises on some of the television crew guys.” Andy hums in response and steals a triangle of Sam’s sandwich. Sam doesn’t notice, too busy gaping in horror as Dean talks about him on national television.

“Oh my God I can’t believe he’s fucking doing this to me. I’m socially screwed!”

 

##

 

“Dean!” Rufus’ truck pulls up alongside the little ‘mom and pop’ grocery store just as Dean is walking out.

“Rufus, hey!” Dean smiles, shouldering his two bags of fresh produce and jogging over to the curb. “How’re you doing today, man?”

“Should be asking you that, shouldn’t I?” Rufus reaches across to the passenger window and tousles Dean’s hair playfully. Dean swats his hand away, more comfortable and familiar with him now than he has been since he and Sam were kids. “How’s the house doin’? Those traps hold pretty good?”

“Oh yeah!” Dean’s face lights up. “Haven’t seen any of those sons of bitches in a couple days, ever since you came and set them. Think we’re in the clear!”

“Good to hear!” A sleek, expensive looking silver car honks as it swerves around the parked truck, and Rufus flips the driver off.  “Pretentious fucker. Ah well, I should probably head on. Got a job a little ways out of the city today. But you’re gonna call me if you ever see any of those little suckers again, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir!” Dean laughs.  The ‘sir’ doesn’t sit heavy and bitter on Dean’s tongue like when he addresses his father. It feels like it’s supposed to. Respectful. Deserved.

“Attaboy.” Rufus gives a final wave before peeling away from the curb, making the ridiculous plastic cockroach on top of his truck bounce as he speeds through the yellow light at the next intersection. Dean shakes his head at the man and readjusts the bags so they can be carried for a while. He’s all grins as he heads back to work, steps light and unhurried, and he can’t help but be a little excited. Dean’s usually all about the red meat, but the thought of the fresh fruits and veggies after so many years of sealed up non-perishables and frozen cow has his mouth watering. He’ll see if he can stash the groceries in Bobby’s fridge until he’s off and can take them home to his own.

 

* * *

 

Dean sees Rufus back to the door, waving awkwardly as the exterminator hoists himself up into his truck and speeds off with a nod.

“It was... really weird having Rufus here,” Dean mumbles in the confessional. “He’s a good friend of Bobby’s, who’s practically been part of the family forever, and I know it’s his job and that he sees worse all the time, but... to have him come here and see the house, and the trash, and the bugs...” Dean falls silent, wiping at eyes that are starting to water. He licks his lips nervously.

“I’m... I’m scared of what Bobby’s gonna say when he gets here and really sees how bad things are. I feel like...” The camera cuts to Dean shuffling around in the trash lining the living room entryway and the hall, pushing things almost frantically to the sides and trying to make a decent walking path from the door into the main areas of the house.

“I feel like I should’ve tried harder with Dad, or gotten help a h--- of a lot sooner... It’s like, I’ve failed at my one job, you know? I’m supposed to be the big brother, take care of Sammy, take care of the house, and I just...” In the confessional, Dean is crying almost freely now, wiping tear after tear from red-rimmed eyes. “By the time I was old enough to realize what was really going on, that... that other people didn’t live like this, things had gotten so bad and I was just so embarrassed that I kept my mouth shut.” Dean quiets for a minute, shoulders slumped and still. “And now, Dad thinks this whole thing is stupid and Sam is too ashamed to even be seen in the house and I’m scared of how Bobby’s gonna look at us after he sees...” Dean cuts him self off with a choked noise. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can say much more right now.” The camera lingers a moment more as he struggles to compose himself, then cuts back to the living room.

“Bobby Singer has been in the boys’ lives for as long as either of them can remember,” Gabriel narrates as the doorbell rings and Dean straightens up from where he’s made a fairly decent pathway, wiping his hands on his worn and faded jeans.

“Once a close friend of John’s, Bobby used to watch the boys every so often on weekends and school holidays as he works out of his home, running a garage and junkyard from the property aptly named Singer’s Salvage. However, after a falling out between the two men a few years back, Bobby and John haven’t seen each other for quite sometime. All contact with Sam and Dean had been limited to occasional visits to the Salvage until, a little over a year and a half ago, Bobby hired Dean on at the garage as a part-timer. Dean now works full days at the shop as a mechanic and is the primary source of income for the family.”

“I dropped out of school maybe... two years ago? After Dad lost his job, so I could try and get some work and maybe pick up some of the loose ends,” Dean’s voice plays over the scene as he opens the door, greeting Bobby with a warm hug and sheepish grin as he motions the older man in towards the rest of the house. “When Bobby found out, he offered me a job as long as I could get my G.E.D. He pushed me until I aced it, then helped me get certified so I could work full-time at Singer’s. When Sam came to see me at work the other day, he got to talking about how frustrating it was not being able to invite his geeky little buddies over because of the house, and Bobby overheard. He swung by one night, took one look at the living room, and drug my Dad out to the yard and started yelling at him.” In the confessional, Dean takes a heavy breath. “I honestly don’t know how this would have ended if Bobby hadn’t insisted we get some outside help. I guess... Sam would probably take off as soon as he can, and I can’t really blame him, but... I couldn’t leave Dad to live like this, you know? So I’d probably just end up stuck in this... this mess.”

Bobby walks slowly along the tiny path Dean had managed to clear. He scans the living in silence while Dean stands nervously behind him in the entryway.

“So, uh...” Dean tries to fill the awkward silence. “This is the living room. There’s Dad’s chair and.... the house computer...” Bobby still says nothing, face drawn tight and pained as he takes a few cautious steps around the corner to the left so he can see into the kitchen.

“This is where you cook dinner?” It’s difficult to read the emotion in Bobby’s gruff voice, and Dean nods.

“Yeah, but uh.... breakfast is usually the only meal we all take together. I mean, Sam tries to eat out, or uh, at a friend’s house whenever he can...” Bobby stiffens as a roach crawls across the floor in front of him, and walks back to the living room where Dean still hovers in front of the main door. The older man opens his mouth to say something and Dean visibly cringes, obviously expecting Bobby to berate him for the state of the house. Instead, Bobby closes his mouth and stands quietly for a moment. Then, he wraps his arms around Dean and crushes him against his chest. Dean is shocked at first, then lets his weight sag and clutches the fabric of Bobby’s shirt in his fingers. Bobby tucks his face in tightly against Dean’s own. Their voices are muffled due to the hug, so captions are provided at the base of the screen.

“Son of a b-----, boy. I’m so sorry. No one should ever have to live like this.”

“It’s okay, Bobby. We’ve been... we’ve been managing okay, and... and I know I should’ve said something sooner-”

“B---s---. I should’ve come over, I should’ve checked in on you boys. Hell, I knew something was off with John from the moment ya’ll moved in to this d--- house and Dean, don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You’ve done a better job taking care of this family than your daddy ever did.”

“It’s actually a pretty common occurrence for the eldest child of a hoarder to feel responsibility for the state of the house,” psychologist and hoarding specialist Anna Milton tells the camera in the confessional, bright red hair a stark contrast to the white background. “As the big brother or sister, they are often either told by the adult or even have convinced their own selves that it’s their job to make sure everything’s okay for the younger siblings. Even though they’re truly still children themselves, they believe that they have a responsibility to the family, and if they just try a little harder or behave better and be the best son or daughter they can, then Mom or Dad will get better and help clean up. Sadly, with cases of hoarding, the problems run a lot deeper than words of encouragement from a worried child can fix. Then, by the time the oldest child is of an age where they can actually make changes in how the house is run, things have already gotten so out of hand that they have no idea where to even start, and often feel like they have failed as a big brother or sister in caring for their family.”

 

* * *

 

“Woah. That’s... that’s fucking heavy, man.” Sam doesn’t say anything in response to Andy, staring quietly at the screen. He knew that Dean really did try hard to make things at the house okay, but Sam hadn’t realized how responsible his big brother felt about the whole situation. He definitely never seen Dean cry before.

“I kind of feel like shit,” he mumbles to Andy as he watches Dean wipe his eyes and try to get his emotions back under control. “I mean, I never thought about how things might be for him, I was just... I was so pissed that things got that way, and worried that people would find out, and I just wanted... Fuck, I just wanted to live normally for a little while! I didn’t... I didn’t think he understood anything about how living there felt for me, and then he goes and decides to broadcast our lives and I just freaked out and-” Sam cuts himself off, running a hand down his face. Andy squints at the screen thoughtfully.

“You must have done something really amazing in a past life to get a big brother like that. Like, saved the world or something.”

“Yeah...” Sam mumbles.

“Do you want me to change the channel?”

“No, I-” Sam bites his lip, waffling. “I think I want to know a little more about what happened before I... before I go back home today.” Andy smiles at him.

“Proud of you,” he teases.

“Whatever.” Whether going home today is going to be the right decision or not, Sam still feels like a fucking heel.

 

##

 

“Hey Bobby! Mind if I keep these in your fridge ‘till I head home today?” Dean yells through the man’s house, popping his head through the doorway before he has to head back out to the garage to finish up.

“Don’t fucking yell in the house, boy, it ain’t polite!” Bobby hollers back, smile on his face and not bothering to get up from his desk.

“Gotcha, old man.” Dean laughs, walking in the door and around the corner to Bobby’s kitchen. Bobby looks up from the letter he’s writing and eyes the two bags thoughtfully.

“You stocking up on veggies?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, opening the refrigerator door and finding a temporary home for the groceries. “I think it’s safe to declare the last of the bugs officially dead and gone, so I’m looking forward to something other than canned food and tupperwared take-out for the next couple of weeks,” Dean smiles sheepishly.

“Good to hear,” Bobby nods. Figuring the conversation over, Dean heads back out the door.

“Hold on a minute,” Bobby calls him back, putting the letter aside. He beckons Dean towards the desk, and suddenly Dean’s nervous.

“What is it? Ah, fuck, don’t tell me something went wrong with that fucking El Camino. I _told_ you that was a goddamn patch job, and nothing short of a complete overhaul was gonna fix-”

“Easy, Dean. It ain’t about work.” Dean approaches the desk hesitantly, and Bobby levels a serious look at him.

“How are you doing?”

“I...” Dean licks his lips as he searches for words. His first instinct was to just come out with ‘fine,’ but he knows Bobby’s not going to let that fly anymore. “Things aren’t perfect, but... I think they’re definitely better.” Bobby nods, accepting Dean’s answer.

“John still being a massive asshole about the whole thing?” Dean gives Bobby a humorless grin, face darkening.

“Yeah, he’s... he’s still not really saying much to me. Comes home and heads straight to his room. Looks at me different too, you know?”

“Good.”

“Good?” Dean stares at Bobby in surprise as the man leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “How is that good?”

“Means he might be starting to see you as your own person, someone he can’t just push all his crap on. Suddenly, he’s having to take the backseat, and he ain’t quite sure how to deal with that.”

“Well, I wish he’d figure it out already,” Dean sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I just want to know where we stand, now.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice,” Bobby groans, standing up and stretching as he rounds the corner of his desk. “For now though, get on back out to that garage. Got a Pacer out there, ain’t gonna fix itself.” Dean snorts derisively.

“Owner would be better off if we just lit fire to that ugly son of a bitch.” He starts to turn away from the desk, but Bobby catches him in a tight hug first.

“Anything else happens,” Bobby reassures him. “You come tell me, yeah?” Dean smiles into the crook of Bobby’s neck.

“Will do. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Bobby pulls out of the hug, taking the time to run one hand through Dean’s hair roughly in an affectionate noogie.

“You’ve done good, boy. This wasn’t supposed to be on you, but you’ve managed alright. Let me take it from here.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean whispers, emotion still running high.

“Yeah, well... hold off on them thanks until that crew gets here and we get set to workin’. Lord knows the more we get done before your daddy gets back, the better.”

“Usually, we refrain from taking any action unless the home owner is present,” Anna narrates over the scene as the she walks up the sidewalk and rings the doorbell. “But before we began filming, John sort of... passed that responsibility over to his son, and most of our paperwork now bears Dean’s name instead.”

“Whatever,” John brushes off the situation in the confessional. “Look, I don’t really give a s--- anymore, alright? This is f---ing stupid. I don’t see a g--d---- problem here, but it’s apparently got Dean’s panties all in a twist, so let him deal with it.” Back at the house, Dean opens the door for Anna and greets her warmly. She introduces herself to him and Bobby.

“Alright guys, I’m just gonna take a quick look around the house and assess the situation best I can. I’ve got a pretty good handle on the living room and the kitchen from what you and Rufus have already told me, so why don’t you show me the rest of the rooms?” Dean nods, and chivalrously holds out a hand to help steady her as she picks across the uneven path down the hall.

“This is the main bathroom,” he pushes open the first door on the left, but the door can’t open quite all the way due to the trash lining the wall. “We all use this one, and it’s definitely accumulated a lot of junk...” The camera pans over the room, and Gabriel narrates as items come into view.

“The Winchesters’ bathroom is covered in packaging. Shampoo bottles, cologne boxes, and the plastic wrappers from bars of soap take up most of the counter space, whereas the floor is mostly old newspapers, books, and rolls of toilet paper both opened and sealed. Q-tips and cotton balls also litter the area, although what concerns Anna most are the first aid items all over the sink.

“There are a lot of bandages and antiseptic just kind of... thrown around here, and... are those suturing supplies?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean stammers. “I kind of... I used to get into fights a lot, and so did Dad. He didn’t want us to go to the hospital too much because it was so expensive, and I was a minor, which... even though it was always my own d--- fault, picking fights left and right like an idiot,” Dean laughs, shaking his head. “It still didn’t look too good. So Dad just started stockpiling first aid stuff.” Anna carefully makes her way toward the other end of the bathroom where the tub and shower are.

“And what about all the toilet paper,” she asks, picking up an unopened bulk package of generic brand toilet tissue from a pile of junk in the corner. “Why buy so much for three people?”

“That, I honestly can’t explain,” Dean shrugs, leaning on the sink centered on the left wall. “One day, Dad just... starting hoarding it, like it was made of gold.”

“Probably some whacked out contingency plan for the ‘inevitable apocalypse,” Bobby snorts from where he leans in the doorway. “John always was the conspiracy theorist type.” Anna pulls back the shower curtain, expecting to find more mess, but the shower is clean save for the shampoo and soaps along the edge.

“The shower’s another one of those places I try to keep clean,” Dean says in the confessional. “It’s just... hygienic. We’ve gotta have some place to wash up, especially Sammy. I mean, he’s fifteen, going to high school... even a whiff of B.O. and the other kids’ll be all over him about it. So when I brush my teeth before bed I usually just pull back the shower curtain, make sure it’s not getting too bad.” Moving on, Dean heads towards his father’s room at the far end of the hall on the right, but Anna stops at the door right next to the bathroom.

“Dean, where are you going?”

“Oh, uh,” Dean shoves his hands his his pockets, bouncing nervously on his heels. “That’s Sam’s room. I don’t think he really wants us in there.” Anna steps forward, and places a reassuring hand on Dean’s arm.

“I understand you want to protect his privacy, but if we’re going to try and do all we can to fix this house up, I need to get a good idea of how much needs to be done.”

“Oh, no, Sam’s not... his room isn’t...” Dean fumbles for the right words, then gives up and moves to the door. “I’ll just, open the door real quick, so you can see, but I don’t want anyone actually going in.”

“Trying to protect their privacy and save some embarrassment is often how things get this bad in the first place,” Anna narrates as she nods reluctantly on screen. “I’m going to respect Sam and Dean’s wishes, but I hope that after working with us for a while they will feel more comfortable letting us help wherever we can.” The door encounters no resistance as it swings into Sam’s room. Shock is written across both Anna and Bobby’s faces as they are presented with a view of the tidy, well-organized bedroom. The twin bed against the near wall is made, the wooden roll-top desk on the right hand has a few neatly stacked papers, and the dresser on the far wall is clear save for a few pictures of the family.

“I mean, Sam keeps his stuff pretty neat,” Dean shrugs, hand on the doorknob and ready to close the door as soon as everyone got a decent enough look. “Once he got old enough to lock his door and demand we all stay out of his room, that was pretty much all she wrote,” he laughs, taking a step back as he swings the door shut. Anna turns to him with a frown on her face, but Bobby beats her to the question on her mind.

“And what about before that, Dean? This sort of mess has to have been goin’ on for years, ever since you boys moved into this place. John must’ve started piling things up in there too, back when Sam was too little to tell him to shove off.”

“Bobby’s right,” Anna supplies patiently when Dean doesn’t answer. “I’m guessing when you two were little, you shared a room? What happened to all the stuff that used to be in there?” Dean bites at his bottom lip for a moment before answering.

“Well, I think it was just after the new school year started, when Sam was thirteen. He was gonna be turning fourteen that May and starting high school a couple months after that, and I felt like he honestly should have had a room of his own for a while, but there was all that crap in there. So one day, I waited till he had gone to school and I, uh... I moved it.” Bobby lets out a dark chuckle.

“Hell, moved it where? There ain’t room enough in the house to put a d--- toothpick, let alone a room full of junk.” Hesitantly, Dean turns on his heel and reaches for the knob of a door directly across from Sam’s.

“This is, um... this is my room.” Dean slowly opens the door, and Anna lets out an almost pained gasp.

“Son of a bitch,” Bobby hisses.

 

* * *

 

“Fucking ew. At least your shower’s clean.” Andy comments as Dean shows the camera crew around the Winchesters’ bathroom.

“Thank God for that,” Sam mumbles in agreement, mentally checking one more box on his list of ‘shit I didn’t know Dean did for me.’ He had always just figured that Dad knew better than to junk up the shower. When Sam sees Anna stop Dean at his room., he can feel Andy waiting for him to flip out, but Sam honestly isn’t caring much about the whole ‘broadcasting their shit on national television’ thing anymore. At least, not for himself. Now, he’s more concerned about Dean. Sam’s starting to understand how hard it was for Dean to agree to this, how his brother is just as embarrassed as he is when it comes to the house. And Sam’s room is clean. Suddenly, Sam realizes that he hasn’t even seen Dean’s room since he moved across the hall two years ago, and his heart sinks as Bobby and Anna cotton on to the fact that the junk in that room can’t have just disappeared. When Dean moves across the hall and reaches for his door, Sam already knows what they’re going to find, and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to see it.

 

##

 

“Dean!” Hearing his name, Dean ducks out from under the hood of the Pacer to see a familiar redhead jogging up to him. He gives his hands and brow a cursory wipe down with a rag before smiling and greeting his guest.

“Anna! You here to get some work done?”

“Oh, no,” Anna laughs, pulling Dean into a brief hug in spite of his grease-covered overalls. “I just came to beg Bobby to give you the rest of the day off, and to shuttle you home quick as I can!”

“Uh...” Dean leans back against the car, confused. “Why? What’s going on?”

“You don’t remember?” Dean’s face is blank as he shakes his head. “Dean, today’s the air date for your episode.”

“Oh, that thing’s on today?”

“Yes!” Dean laughs, pushing away from the car and heading towards his toolbox, thumbing through a couple of socket wrenches for the size he needs.

“To be honest, I kind forgot that it was all going to be on TV. I just kinda got caught up in the actual doing stuff, I never really noticed the camera.”

“Oh, we _know_.” The sly grin spreading across Anna’s face makes Dean uncomfortable.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll find out if you watch the episode.”

“Right. And Bobby’s totally going to give me the rest of the day off just to watch TV.”

“Please,” Anna snorts, already turning towards the house. “The old codger’s probably already shirking his own work and watching it himself.” Dean follows her through the screen door back into Bobby’s home, finding the man in question ignoring the paperwork on his desk in favor of the small television across the room. Anna laughs, and if Dean had ever stumbled across Sam sneaking something from a cookie jar, he’s pretty sure his little brother’s face would look exactly like Bobby’s does now. Bobby ends up sending Dean home, but not before pushing a small, simple brown package across the desk at him.

“Take that with you when you go. It came in today, don’t need it cluttering up my junkyard. Don’t got anything that can use it, anyway.” Dean eyes it cautiously, picking up the package and running his fingers reverently over the brown paper when he realizes what it might be.

“Bobby, tell me you didn’t.”

“Consider it an early birthday present,” Bobby grunts, getting up and pushing Dean out the door to where Anna is already waiting by her car.

“I’ll pay you back, I swear-”

“Hell, just keep working here and we’ll call it even. No one in town treats these cars like you do. Now get on home, watch your show, and get some rest. Take tomorrow, too. Maybe get that all squared away,” Bobby motions to the package. Dean’s face lights up.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll... I’ll see you Sunday, Bobby.” Bobby watches Dean run to the car, bouncing on his toes as he opens the passenger door like a kid on Christmas, and he chuckles to himself. It was worth every penny.

 

* * *

 

“Dean’s room is...” In the confessional, even Anna has trouble swallowing her emotion. “It’s by far the worst room in the house.” From the doorway, barely any of the room is visible due to the stacks of boxes piled nearly to the ceiling, spilling over with clothes, books, and other household items from various rooms, crammed in wherever they would fit. There is a tiny path winding through the towers of junk that even small, petite framed Anna has difficulty getting through. Dean steps in to help her, struggling just a bit with his broader shoulders, but thanks to years of practice it makes it through. Bobby doesn’t even try, just stands at the door in awe.

“Our equipment won’t fit into Dean’s room,” Gabriel explains as there’s some juggling around of the crew and camera. “So our videographer Balthazar follows after Anna and Dean with the handheld.” From behind a smaller, shaky camera, Balthazar worms his way over to where Anna is perched carefully on the edge of the bed. Dean stands directly in front of her, where the narrow walking path abruptly dead ends at the mattress. Save for the very edge where Anna sits, the bed is buried under delicate clothing, pictures, jewelry boxes, and other feminine vanity items. Even with the much smaller camera, the scene is still framed by the boxes spilling over with junk that press in on all sides. Dean motions toward all of the items on the bed.

“Most of the stuff in that other room was Mom’s. I know Dad would have freaked out if I’d thrown any of it away, so... I put it in here.” Anna sits mutely on the scrap of available bed space, overwhelmed. Gabriel’s narration takes on a more somber tone.

“The tragic fire that destroyed most of the top floor of the Winchester’s previous home also claimed the life of their mother, Mary.”

“When Mom died, that was when everything started getting bad,” Dean tells the camera in the confessional. “The old house was always kept nice, but after the fire... Dad couldn’t bear to leave anything behind. I guess he didn’t want to feel like he was losing something else. Whatever wasn’t burnt to a husk in the fire, the whole first floor and a fair chunk of the second, he brought with us. That house was a lot bigger than this one.” The scene cuts back to Dean carefully leading Anna back through the mess.

“We all miss Mom,” Dean’s voice continues playing as they meet back up with Bobby at the door. “But there are limits, you know? I have a few things of hers I’d love to keep, but for all the rest... we just don’t have the space to cling on to everything.” Dean can’t meet either Bobby or Anna’s eyes as Balthazar passes off the small camera in exchange for the usual model.

“I severely underestimated Dean’s feelings of responsibility for the state of house and it’s youngest occupant,” Anna, still visibly shell-shocked, speaks in the confessional. “In exchange for giving his younger brother a clean room, Dean’s own has become not only completely unusable, but also incredibly unsafe.” In the hall, Dean rocks nervously on his heels.

“So, that was um, my room,” the words come slowly, as Dean hesitantly owns up to the state of it.

“Dean, that was... I’m going to be completely frank, that’s one of the tightest, most dangerous rooms I have been in, in a very long time.” Dean looks down at Anna’s statement, shame tinting his cheeks.

“I just... I didn’t have anywhere else to put it, and it seemed like the only option left.” Anna pulls Dean into a tight hug, and Dean’s hands hover over her back for a moment, surprised at the sudden embrace.

“We’re gonna get your room back, Dean,” subtitles are again provided as she murmurs against Dean’s shoulder. “I promise, okay? But you have to promise me something, too.” Getting his bearings, Dean’s hands come to rest on Anna’s shoulder blades as he ducks his head.

“I... okay,” he mumbles in return. “What is it?” Anna pulls out of the hug, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a steely, determined look that pins him in place in spite of her much smaller size.

“No more sacrificing your own needs for your brother. You deserve to want things for your own life just as much as he does, and responsibility for this family does not fall on your shoulders. Do you understand me?” Silent, Dean clenches his jaw, obviously not very keen with the idea.

“Dean, you are nineteen,” Anna continues. “Twenty, at the start of the new year. Your young adult life is meant to be spent exploring yourself, finding out what you want, the sort of life you want to live. It’s a time to be selfish, and adventurous, and to take leaps of faith that might not work out but that you’ll learn something from. Staying here, taking care of your brother and all of these other responsibilities... It’s noble, Dean. Really, it is. But it’s not your job. It’s your father’s, and he needs to step up and-”

“Yeah well, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon, sweetheart” Dean bites back, suddenly defensive and angry in a way that has Anna taking a stunned step back.

“No, it ain’t,” Bobby growls in response, drawing himself up and taking Anna’s place in front of Dean. “And you know what? There’s plenty of other folk ‘round here more than happy to step in and fill those shoes who are already grown and know how. You boys are family, to me, to Rufus... hell, even to Ellen who runs the bar down the road. This whole mess was never ‘sposed to be on you, and I’ll be d---ned if you an’ your stubborn as h--- attitude are gonna try and take that responsibility back.” Dean stares up at Bobby, shocked into silence as the older man finishes. Bobby lets out a huff of air, taking off his ever present ball cap and running one hand through his hair, sighing heavily as he replaces the hat.

“This is outta your hands now, Dean,” he continues in a much quieter, sympathetic tone. “I’m taking all that responsibility right here right now, and I’m not giving it back. You’re done playing father to that boy. It’s time for you to be a brother.” Dean swallows down a lump in his throat, eyes welling up and spilling over as his shoulders shake and he wipes quickly at his face with the back of his hand. Bobby pulls him tightly into another hug. This time, no muffled words needing captions make their way out from between them, just shaking and crying. When Dean pulls himself together save for a few gasping breaths here and there, he takes a step back and runs his hand over his face.

“Right, um,” his voice is strained as he turns back to Anna. “I... I can’t promise I’ll be able to let go of all that just yet, but... I can promise to try?” Anna nods, satisfied.

“I’ll accept that.” There’s a beat of silence as everyone gets a handle on the situation. Dean is the first to speak.

“So... where to next?”

“I think,” Anna bites her lip, turning to look through the open door into Dean’s disaster of a room. “I think I’d like to see where on earth you sleep.” Dean’s face darkens for a moment, but instead of fighting Anna on this he sighs, letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he turns back towards the living room.

“Yeah, I... I’ll show you.”

 

* * *

 

“I think I’m going to go home now,” Sam whispers to Andy, hands shaking.

“Okay, buddy. You want me to help you pack?”

 

* * *

 

Dean leads Anna and Bobby through the living room, confusion growing apparent on their faces as he takes them out the back door.

“Before he lost his job, John used to buy up and restore classic cars, then re-sell them at full value,” Gabriel narrates as the camera pans over the fenced yard littered with junk cars, hubcaps, and engine blocks. “After being let go, John continued buying the junkers, but never seemed to make much headway on the refurbishments.” Amid all of the scrap pieces are five full car bodies in various states of disrepair, seemingly abandoned mid-project. Dean leads the group to a massive vehicle towards the back of the yard in better shape than the others, if only by a small margin. It sits on four cinder blocks, various bits and pieces of the body obviously newer or older than the rest, with no paint job to speak of. Still, the car itself is whole, at least on the outside. Recognition lights up on Bobby’s face.

“That’s the Impala I gave you to practice on a couple years back, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles softly at the behemoth. “I’ve gotten her into alright shape. I mean, I don’t have the money to get her engine any where near up and running yet, a couple pieces of the interior need replacing, and her chassis is still cracked all to hell, but...” Dean runs a reverent hand over the roof of the car as he speaks. “She’s airtight, and she’s clean. I sleep stretched across the backseat.”

“Baby’s always taken good care of me,” Dean’s voice plays over the scene as the camera pans slowly over the inside of the vehicle. “When I started really getting into fixing up cars, Bobby gave her to me to work on. The owner hadn’t taken good care of her at all, and didn’t want to put in the time and effort to get her back on her wheels, so he just left her and bought something new.”

Inside of the car, the front bench seat has been completely stripped out, and is sitting under a carefully secured tarp a few feet away. The dash panel is open and mid-repair, wires exposed where Dean has been tinkering.

“I’ve been working on her in bits and pieces for about five years now, whenever I can get my hands on enough money for parts.” The inside panels of the doors have been removed, with a few tools still sitting in the hollows where Dean had recently been working on the windows and locking mechanisms. In the back, the bench seat is in fair shape, obviously replaced more recently than other parts of the car, and there is a small pile of blankets and a pillow in the corner next to the taped up window on the right.

“Whenever I need a moment to myself to, I dunno, pull myself back together for a while after a hard day, or just get out of the house for a while, I’d head outside and either work on her or just... sit in her for a little while in the quiet. After I got Sam moved into his room, I started coming out here to sleep.” The camera cuts to the confessional, where Dean is growing teary eyed as he speaks. “I gotta get her running. I have to. She’s become more of a home to me than my actual house, and I kind of owe it to her to get her back on the road.”

“Dean is sleeping outside, in his car,” Anna speaks to the camera, aghast. “If we get nothing else done in this house, we have got to get Dean’s room back.” In the backyard, Anna turns toward the boys. Bobby has been silent since Dean admitted he sleeps in the Impala, and as he meets Anna’s eyes there are twin looks of determination on both adults’ faces.

“Alright. I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on what we’re dealing with here,” Anna starts, putting on her game face and squaring her shoulders as she talks to Dean. “As far as John’s rooms go, I want to talk to him first before we even think about clearing those out.” Anna ignores Bobby’s derisive snort of “Good luck,” and reaches out for Dean’s hands. Dean gives her an odd look, but takes her hands anyway, and Anna grips his tightly.

“As for the rest,” she continues. “Dean, are you ready to take back your house?”

“I really, really am,” Dean nods emphatically, taken aback a bit by the emotion in his own voice.

“Okay then,”Anna lets go of Dean’s hands and clasps them together in front of her, excited. “I’ll grab hold of the crew tonight, and we can get started tomorrow!”

 

* * *

 

Dean may have promised Anna that he’d go right to the TV and tune in to the show, but the package in his hands is calling to him just a little too strongly. He does take a moment to enjoy putting his groceries away, briefly rinsing the heads of lettuce before putting them and the rest of his bounty straight into the fridge - no saran wrap, no tupperware, just fresh vegetables sitting pretty in a bowl next to the ground chuck Dean had picked up earlier in the week. His grin threatens to split his face, and though it might seem weird to others that he took so much pleasure out of such a mundane task, he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit. Hell, he was the only one in the house anyway. He leans agains the counter top, surveying the... no, _his_  kitchen.

It almost seems like a completely different room. It took a couple hours of scrubbing to get the gunk and tile off of the linoleum, and there was no way Dean was ever going to get it back into cherry condition, but he could actually tell that the tiles used to be a pretty, baby blue. Rufus had a few contacts at the local Home Depot, and had offered to swing Dean some new countertops for a pretty good deal, but a little curiosity and some sanding revealed decent wood beneath the damaged facing. Bobby had given Dean the week after the big clean up to recoup, so he used that time to fix up the counters. Some sanding here, a little wood stain there, and boom - pretty maple counters only a little shorter than they were before. Dean eyes the rickety table and chairs, trying to decide if he wants to fix them up next or scrap ‘em in favor of new set so he can paint the walls instead. A pretty pale yellow would look mighty nice with the white lace curtains he’d found going through his Mom’s things.

Dean checks the time, and realizes the episode was nearly thirty minutes in. He waffles between the television and his present for a moment. Surreal as it may be, he doesn’t actually want to miss too much of the episode. He wanders freely into the living room, picking up the remote control from the solid end table next to the recliner, and tunes to the station. Dean only catches a glimpse of himself and Anna before the screen cuts to some breaking news out of Kansas City. He can’t believe his luck. The news anchor promises a return to their regularly scheduled programming within the hour and, seizing his opportunity, Dean grabs his parcel and dashes out to the backyard. He rips the paper away from the package and shakes out the little metal piece inside.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispers, gently turning the part over and over in his hands. This was really it. This was the last piece of the puzzle. Slowly, he walks over to the Impala. He makes a full circle around her, running his hand along her sanded down sides. She still needs a hell of a lot of cosmetic work, but that sort of thing is fixed easy.

“Alright, girl,” he murmurs to her as he comes back around to the front of the car. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this. You ready?” Once slotted and locked into place, the tiny piece in his hands should complete the picture, and Dean will finally be able to hear the car that took care of him, that became his home, that kept him safe as he slept, roar back to life. His hands are trembling as he lifts her hood, and he can fill his eyes welling up. After so much, this is what she deserves. He stares down at the engine, running his thumb over and over the final piece, and lets out a shuddering breath. The silence looms heavy over the yard as Dean leans over the machine. He wills his hands to stop trebling, but his whole body is just a wound up ball of nerves.

“Dean-”

“Fuck!”

_**CLANG!** _

“Ah, shit,” Dean gingerly rubs his head where he banged it on the open hood. He turns to see his younger brother nervously lingering in the driveway by the back gate. “You scared the crap out of me, Sammy.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Yeah, figured.” Dean sighs as he turns away from the Impala. “I uh, didn’t expect to see you back. Is everything going okay at Andy’s? Do you... need any more money for lunch?”

“No, I just...” Sam shifts from side to side, looking everywhere but at his brother. “I was watching the show.”

“Oh. Shit.” Dean leans against the front bumper of the car, rubbing his empty hand down his face. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not too bad, actually. I mean, they didn’t pull any punches about the house, and so far Dad looks like a right asshole-”

“Yeah, I figured,” Dean huffs, laughing tiredly. Sam cracks a smile.

“But it’s really... it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be though, you know? I’m really sorry I freaked out so much about it.”

“Please,” Dean snorts, turning around to lean over the engine again. He distracts himself, mentally running over the steps to install the new part, as he just lets his mouth run. “I remember how it is, you know? High school’s fucking rough man. I get it. Even if it’s not as bad as you thought it’d be, there’s still gonna be a bunch of fucking assholes trying to give you shit over everythi-”

“I don’t care anymore, Dean!” Suddenly Sam is under the hood with him, his no longer that much smaller hand on top of Dean’s own, compelling him to look Sam in the eye. “I’ve been a... a selfish fucking asshole about this whole thing!”

“Sam-”

“No, let me finish. I got so scared and embarrassed that people were gonna find out about the house, I didn’t even think about it’s effect on you.”

“Hell, Sammy, you’re a kid. You’re supposed to be selfish and get embarrassed and want things to be nice-”

“Well so are you, Dean! You deserve that chance too, okay? You’ve done so much, you’ve given up so much, I just... I want to help now, okay? So just take that for what it is.”

Dean pretends to be enthralled by the engine, busying himself with checking parts and connections he’s already checked twenty times over.

“Yeah... yeah, I can do that. It’s not too bad anymore anyways, so don’t worry about too much, okay?” Dean shifts to his right, knocking playfully into his little brother. “But you know what...” he trails off, with a sudden serious expression on his face. “There is one thing you can help me do. It’s really important, though. D’you think you’re up for it?”

“I... yes, of course. Anything.” Sam looks up at his brother, at once both eager and nervous.

“I don’t know... it is kind of a big deal.”

“I’m good for it Dean, I promise. I’ll do whatever you need me to.” Dean finally cracks, grim expression twisting into a grin and a laugh as he takes Sam’s hand and curls it around his precious new part.

“How ‘bout you help me install this bad boy, and let’s finally get this old girl up and running.”

 

* * *

 

“The next day starts off rocky for the Winchesters,” Gabriel teases over an exterior shot of the house, accompanied by muffled yelling. Inside, John stands in the living room, berating his oldest son.

“Look, I’m humoring you and your brothers’ little hissy fit about the d--- house, but I don’t see why my rooms have to be dragged into this s--- at all!”

“It not about the mess, Dad,” Dean pleads his case, desperate, but not quite yelling. “I mean, it kind of is, but mostly it’s about being safe! And healthy! This whole thing has gotten way out of control, and you’ve got to recognize that things can’t stay like thi-”

“B---s---,” John rolls his eyes as he cuts Dean off. “We’ve gotten around this house for years and just because you and Sam are suddenly a little embarrassed, you decide to make a big f---ing stink about it, dragging in a g--d---- camera crew and half the neighborhood? This whole thing is bulls---!” Dean runs a hand through his hair in frustration

“Dad, please, just talk to the counselor. Anna can explain everything better than I can, and she can help-”

“For f---’s sake, Dean I don’t need help!” Dean flinches as John slams his fist down onto the desk with a loud bang, scattering trash. The house stands still in tense silence for a moment, and John rubs at his eyes. Dean just looks down at the floor, biting the inside of his cheek.

“You know what,” John sighs, turning his back on Dean and making his way to the front door. He grabs a coat from a small pile of clothing to the side of the entryway. “Do whatever the f--- you want,” he growls and opens the door. “I don’t give a s--- anymore.” John walks out and slams the door behind him. As Dean stands solemnly in the living room alone, John’s truck can be heard peeling out of the driveway. Shaking his head, Dean drops into John’s recliner with an air of resignation hanging about his shoulders.

“I knew Dad was gonna be reluctant,” Dean’s voice is heard as a large truck marked “Saving Grace: Extreme Case Haulers” pulls up outside of the house. “But I thought he’d be a little more open to reason.”

“John being completely removed from this whole scenario unnerves me,” Anna shares her concerns in the confessional, wearing a bright purple t-shirt this time. “Hoarding like this is generally a result of an underlying psychological issue, and the entire reason I’m on the crew is to help work through some of that, so they can learn to let go rather than just have everything suddenly taken away from them.” Anna sighs, rubbing at her temple. “I’m not really comfortable with this, but the condition these two boys have been living in is just so out of hand, we have got to do something. I can’t justify sitting by and twiddling my thumbs while we wait for their father to realize there’s a bigger problem at hand here, especially if that may very well never happen.”

Back at the house, Anna hops out of the passenger seat of the truck. Bobby pulls up at about the same time, and Dean grabs a light blue flannel from the coat rack at the door, throwing it on over his gray henley as he steps out to greet them.

“Dean!” Anna smiles as she hugs him. “Are you ready to get this whole thing under way?”

“Yeah,” Dean attempts a weak smile, and Bobby clues in immediately.

“John throw a fit this morning?” he intones gruffly. Dean grimaces,and Bobby sighs.”Well boo hoo for him. He can wallow in his own filth all he wants, but we’re getting you and your brother squared away today whether he likes it or not.” He tugs Dean in for a brief, one armed hug, and takes control of the situation.

“Anna, you brought your boys?” Dean stands uncomfortably in the background as Anna nods to Bobby and waves at the truck. A number of strapping young men in black shirts and tan cargo pants pour out of the back, chatting and laughing, followed by a taller man with a more solemn smile. “This is my brother Gadreel and his crew. They’ll be taking care of most of the bulk work.” From the cab of the truck, two men in similar uniform fight over who gets out of the door first, and the taller of the two wins. They continue squabbling all the way to the sidewalk, and Anna laughs at them. “Even my brother Balthazar and our cousin Gabe have decided to get out in front of the camera for a change to help you out. My sister Hannah will be filling in for Balthazar as far as the filming goes.” Gabriel winks at the camera.

“After years of hearing my silky sweet voice, the viewers finally get a chance to appreciate the full beauty of my magnificence!”

“Oh joy,” Balthazar drawls, pushing Gabe away and out of the frame. “Now maybe they’ll finally be able to see what a load of horse s--- you really are.” The brothers continue play-fighting, Gabriel pulling at Balthazar’s black v-neck while Balthazar grabs Gabe by his longer hair and tugs him into prime noogie position. Anna smiles apologetically and motions for the camera to turn back to the truck. One last man is climbing out of the cab, much more calmly than the others, with a little hesitance. “And last but not least is my youngest Castiel, on break from school.” Anna turns to Dean and smiles. “He heard what we were working on, and wanted to come help wherever he could.” Castiel smiles sheepishly at the group, with an awkward attempt at a wave.

“So the gang’s all here!” Anna’s in high spirits as she turns to Dean.

“Yeah,” he lets out a shaky breath.

“Alright,” Bobby dives in. “Where do we start?”

“Generally, we sort out some guidelines for each room we tackle,” Anna tells them. “What things to throw out right away, which sorts of items to to consider a little more closely, what type of stuff will always be kept-”

“Throw it all out,” Dean’s voice is dark as he stares back at the house, and Anna loses her train of thought.

“I... what?”

“Throw it out. Everything. All the s--- in the living room, the crap in the kitchen... it’s really all useless junk and trash and it just needs to be gone.” Bobby frowns.

“Dean, I know you’re ready for the house to be clean, but I don’t want you throwin’ away anything you’re gonna regret just because you’re tryin’ to move too fast.”

“It’s fine, Bobby,” Dean says, turning back to him and Anna.

“I know what’s in that house. There’s a lot of stuff, but I know what’s there. The only things worth holding onto are a couple of Mom’s things and those are all in my room. I’d like to look though some of those boxes if I can, but the rest... it’s really nothing but trash. Just throw it out.”

“I’m definitely not used to doing things this way,” Anna fidgets in the confessional. “But without the actual hoarder around, things are going to be different than usual for me.” Onscreen, Anna nods hesitantly and Dean shows her and the crew inside. “I’m just worried about what’s going to happen when John comes home to what will essentially be an empty house.”

 

* * *

 

Dean wipes his arm across his forehead as he shuts the refrigerator door, smearing engine grease further along his face as he pops open a can of lemonade. He leans on the kitchen counter, smiling out of the window as Sam straightens and stretches, gingerly closing the Impala’s hood and making his own way inside. It had been a grimy, glorious half hour for the both of them, toiling away under the hood together. Hell, it had been the most fun Dean’s had with his brother in years. They had joked and teased, slowly relearning each other as they were without the pressure of their living situation bearing down on them. And now... now he’s pretty sure that if he turned the keys, she might actually-

“Holy shit.” Sam stumbles through the back door into the living room and nearly drops the lemonade Dean tosses to him.

“Right?” Dean smirks, playfully smacking Sam across the back of the head as his little brother gapes wide-eyed and open mouthed at the room. “C’mon,” he motions over his shoulder, passing the older TV in the living room and shutting it off just as the anchor wraps up his spiel. “There was a bit of a break in the broadcast, we can still catch the back half of the show.” Sam wanders into the room behind him.

“Dean, this is... this is incredible,” Sam murmurs as drifts through space, unobstructed. “They managed to do all this?”

“It was a pretty cool group of people,” Dean shrugs, stopping at the beginning of the hallway. Sam lingers in the center of the room, spinning in a slow circle. Dean chuckles at the awestruck expression. Hell, he had seen it get clean, had been fixing it up the rest of the way over the past month, and still he was taken aback every so often. Dean had moved the recliner back and off center, almost all the way against the left wall, and angled it in towards the center of the room. The old ratty couch is gone. Instead, Dean’s old night table bridges gap at the back corner of the room between the recliner and the small loveseat Bobby had brought over as a gift from Ellen. It was used, and hand-me-down, but it was in good condition and had come with a “Happy Spring Cleaning” card attached to it. Dean still has no idea where Ellen managed to find that card amid all the halloween decorations that were starting to fill the stores, but he keeps it on that heavy wooden end table where he can see it everyday.  Bobby had helped him pushed the tiny couch up against the back wall, and it now sits pretty beneath the big window into the backyard. To the tiny sofa’s right, between it and the door to the yard, is a small, squishy armchair Dean had found in pieces and shoved into a large box labelled Deanna. The new furniture really opens up the left side of the room, arcing around the corner on top of an orange, brown, and white striped rug Dean had picked up at a thrift shop.

The old television is perched across the room, replacing the computer on the mercifully clear and still sturdy desk. Without all the junk and trash, the room has plenty of space and is not only beautiful, but blessedly cool and fresh. With no fear of the wind kicking up paper and cardboard and other crap, Dean can open the big window and turn on the ceiling fan, letting the crisp autumn breeze roll freely around the room. He had bought a set lace curtains to match the white ones he’d found for the kitchen, and they wave lazily in the air as Sam stands, gawking. Dean snaps his fingers in front of Sam’s face.

“You gonna stand there all day or are we gonna watch this thing?”

“But... the TV’s in here?” Sam stammers, bringing his attention back to a focal point. Dean grins at him.

“Got a few nice rides in at the garage this past week, ended up with a little extra dough. So I bought myself something.” He nods for Sam to follow him as he turns back down the hallway.

“Let’s watch it in my room.”

 

* * *

 

“So here’s how we’re gonna split this up,” Anna addresses the crowd squeezed into the cluttered living room. “Gadreel, your crew already knows the ins and outs of junk hauling, so your going to take on the living room and kitchen, which Dean has marked as an ‘everything must go’ situation.” Gadreel nods, and his crew gathers around him as he begins a quiet breakdown of their task. “Gabriel, you and I are going to take the main bathroom. Around all that plumbing, smaller hands are going to do a lot more a lot faster, plus it’s going to need a bit of deep cleaning.” Gabe protests the reference to his size, but Anna continues, ignoring him. “Bobby, you and Balthazar are going to head out back and sort out everything that Dean can use for the Impala. She and any usable piece stay. The rest of that junk goes.” Dean looks up at Anna in surprise.

“I’ve seen these sorts of shows a few times before,” he says in the confessional. “I know what happens to the ‘unfinished projects.’ They get scrapped, because they’re just sitting around taking up space. I was honestly expecting Anna to tell me to let her go.” Anna sees the shock on Dean’s face and smiles at him.

“Dean, the real problem in the back yard is all the cars and crap sitting around without chance of being used, bought and stashed there by someone who couldn’t care less if they get fixed. It’s obvious you’ve been working hard on that Impala, with the clear intent of getting it back on the road, and I can tell how important it is to you. Of course it... I mean, she... stays.” Dean chokes out a thank you, and Bobby laughs under his breath. Anna continues delegating duties, and Bobby pulls Dean aside for a moment. They speak softly, and subtitles are provided.”

“Idjit. You didn’t think I’d ever let them take her from you, did you?”

“I just...” Dean sighs. “I know how those things normally go, and I did say to just throw everything out. I figured if I could let the Impala go, I could keep more of Mom’s things...”

“Dean, do you even have any other things in this house besides that car and a couple of clothes?”

“No, not... not really...”

“Exactly. Don’t worry about what they’ll ‘let you keep’ or not. The problem here is John and his s---. There’s gonna be plenty of room for you to have the things you wanna keep for yourself once we’re done. That’s the whole g---d--- point, boy.” Dean nods, and Bobby clasps him on the shoulder, steering him back to the task at hand.

“-and Castiel,” Anna turns to her cousin. “Since you’re not as familiar with these sorts of things as everyone else, why don’t you go with Dean and help him sort through the boxes in his room?” Cas turns toward Dean and nods silently.

“Alright everyone!” Anna claps her hands. “Let’s get started!”

 

* * *

 

“Kick- _ass_ ,” Sam whistles when he sees the flatscreen, and Dean feels a little pride swell up in his chest. It’s not that big really, just a modest 32” plasma that the RadioShack down the road had marked way down during their closing sale, but for the first time he’s got something of his own that Sam thinks is cool. Dean ambles his way over to the mattress and flops down on his back with a groan. He would have liked to shower first, but the show’s back on. Sam turns around and takes in the rest of the room for a minute.

“Woah... _woah_. Dean, this is...”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. C’mon Sam, let’s watch this thing already, get it over with.” Dean scoots up the mattress to sit against the headboard, and tentatively holds out one arm for Sam to crawl up with him like they did when they were younger, sharing a room and curling up together, turning the corner of that bed into their own little world as they tried to ignore the state of the house around them. Sam seems unsure at first, wavering a little in the center of Dean’s room, but then a slow, shy smile inches across his face. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Good thing, too, because in the next moment Sam launches himself into the air with a roar. Dean screams as his no longer tiny brother hurtles through the air at him, but can’t move in time. He groans as Sam lands across his stomach with an “oof!”

“You little shit,” he yells back between winded laughs, wrapping his arms around Sam and turning, pinning Sam beneath him in one of the wrestling holds he remembers from high school.

“Aw, c’mon,” Sam whines, trying to wiggle his way out only to have Dean catch him and tug him back into the hold. “Thats... you had training! That’s not fair!”

“All’s fair when it comes to family, little brother!” Sam finally gets one leg free enough to kick, and the boys spent the first few minutes back from the commercial break wrestling on the bed, nearly knocking over the lamp and the old rotary phone on the small table next to Dean’s bed. When they finally settle down enough to get comfy and watch the show, Dean resumes his position against the headboard with Sam’s head tucked in tightly against his shoulder. The height gap between them has been slowly closing, something that Dean isn’t sure how he didn’t notice, but it still feels just like when Sam was small and he’d come crawling up to him, curling up against the side of his chest. Well, Sam isn’t so much curled up anymore as he is stretched out alongside, but it’s comfortable all the same. In fact, it’s perhaps the most comfortable they've been with each other in years. Dean wonders at that, at how big of an impact simply lifting the weight of all the crap in the house, all the crap John dropped on them, all the crap he’s tried to carry for the past fifteen years, truly had on their relationship.

“They seem like cool people,” Sam mumbles from Dean’s shoulder as Anna introduces the gang.

“Yeah,” Dean smiles as the last man stumbles from the truck, all bedhead and blue eyes. “They were certainly something.”

 

* * *

 

Gadreel’s crew gets to work on the living room, carting out bag after bag of trash.

“It’s definitely easier being given free reign to throw everything out,” Gadreel tells the camera as he adjust his gloves. “Usually, we have to work around the homeowner’s restrictions. This is much faster, and more efficient.” A few bugs scatter as cardboard and beer crates are lifted, packed up, and carried away. The living rooms begin to take shape, revealing more of the desk and floor as a five man portion of the crew works outward from the recliner. The remaining three men tackle the kitchen, two clearing off the floor while the third starts on the counter space. Meanwhile, Bobby surveys the back yard with Balthazar.

“Christ,” Balthazar whistles under his breath. “How much of this crap is even useable?”

“Not very much,” Bobby grunts, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. “Most of this junk is rusted out, or for the wrong type of car.”

“Fantastic,” Balthazar deadpans. “So where do we start?”

“With the Chevys,” Bobby walks over to an old Malibu, popping the hood with nothing more than a well-place kick. “Don’t worry about the body or the engine, I got somethin’ cooking already for the exterior, and the engine’s gonna need a lot more specialized care than some scrap pieces pulled outta some junkers. Right now, we’re just checking for some usable electrical components.

“Right...” Balthazar sidles over, peering into the car beside Bobby. “So... what?” Bobby looks at Balthazar and sighs, tugging his ball cap a bit further down his head.

“I’m gonna hand s--- to you, and you’re gonna hold onto it.”

“Now that, I can do!” Bobby shakes his head, ducking under the hood.

Inside the house, Anna and Gabe snap on gloves as they stand at the bathroom door. Gabriel lets out a low whistle.

“Woah. This is pretty bad.”

“Not as bad as it could be,” Anna supplies, tying her red hair up into a tight ponytail as she shuffles her way over to the sink and takes a quick glance behind it. “Worst we’ll have to deal with here is a bit of gunk and mildew, most of it’s going to be pretty straightforward - grab the trash, put it in the bag. Once everything’s cleared, we’ll grab the sponges and the disinfectant and go to town.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Gabriel crouches down to the cabinet under the sink and opens the doors, sliding one arm around everything and scooping it out into a bag.

“Hey, check and make sure you’re not throwing away anything they need!” Anna scolds.

“It’s fine,” Dean mentions as he passes the door on the way to his room with Castiel. “Don’t worry about that sort of stuff. We need new things anyway, since most everything is either empty or really old. I’ve been putting away some money to buy all new things since Bobby started talking about doing this.”

“See?” Gabriel smiles up at his sister. “It’s fine.”

“Don’t be a little s---.” Anna smacks him lightly on the back of his head and Dean laughs at them, though he seems a bit taken aback at Anna’s language.

“Wow, didn’t think you had it in you to cuss, Anna.” She blushes, remembering herself, and apologizes.

“I’m sorry, it’s just... my family tends to bring out the worst in me.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” Dean smiles, leaning on the door frame. “But they bring out the best too sometimes, don’t they?” There are grins all around as the group shares a comfortable silence. Gabriel is the first to break it.

“So, cleaning?”

“Right!” Dean laughs as Anna and Gabe leap back into action, busying themselves with the junk layering the bathroom floor.

“Anyways, my uh... my room is this way,” he says to Castiel, lingering a few paces behind and watching everything with a bemused smile. Dean is nervous as they reach his door.

“I knew it was going to be tough, showing the people that I knew the house, but I didn’t think I’d be so worried about the opinions of strangers,” he admits in the confessional. “It doesn’t get easier, no matter how many people I show. I just... I’m going to be glad when everything is gone.”

 

* * *

 

“Anna, I was _there_. I don’t need to watch it.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Castiel.” Anna’s voice is tinny over the tiny smartphone Castiel has clutched tightly to his ear. It had been a present from his brother, and Cas was constantly worried he was going to break it. “It always seems different when you watch it on screen. You notice things you didn’t before, you see new sides of people... you actually get the whole picture, the whole story!” Castiel sighs, leaning back on the marble counter and surveying his inordinately large, empty kitchen. He used to enjoy the space and solitude of his inherited home, but recently he’d been feeling... lonely.

“A viewing party, huh?”

“I mean, the episode’s already half over, but there was delay thanks to some breaking news out of the city and everyone’s already here.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, the crew. Dean’s watching at his place, he had something he wanted to do to the Impala. C’mon Cas, it’s just a ten minute drive down.” Passing his free hand contemplatively over his jaw, Castiel surveys his kitchen one more time, eyes lingering on his sad little sandwich sitting in the middle of his counter island.

“Gabe’s grilling burgers?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, I’ll come watch with you all.”

 

* * *

 

“The house is coming along great, you guys!” Anna smiles on her way through to the kitchen to get some water, wiping a gloved wrist across her brow.

“It’s certainly going a lot smoother than usual,” Gadreel huffs with a grin, hoisting a full bag over his shoulder.

“A few hours and many hands make quick work of a messy house,” Gabriel, narrating once again, speaks over a pan of the room. “The majority of the junk laying around unused is gone, and almost all of the trash has been taken out to the truck. The floor is finally clear, and the crew is beginning work on the desk area, shelves, and boxes along the walls. We were even able to crack open the windows, alleviating some of the late summer heat as a cool breeze rolls in, heralding the start of autumn and being carried through the bulk of the house by the freshly dusted ceiling fan. On top of that, everyone has been making some great new friends!” A few shots of the group taken of the course of the day show the group bonding with each other; Bobby and Balthazar bicker over the usefulness of hybrid cars, Dean smiles and laughs with Gadreel and his crew about a senator who’s preferred nickname is actually “Dick,” Bobby hooks a battered ball-cap onto Anna’s head and she smiles as he complements her hard work, and Cas and Dean swap stories about their brothers.

“I was a little worried about the team dynamic,” Anna admits in the confessional. “Gabe and Balthazar are total people persons, and Gadreel’s crew is full off characters. I didn’t worry about them too much, but Castiel...” she trails off, choosing her words carefully.

“He doesn’t really have many people in his life, outside of his family. I mean, he has a couple of friends at school, but they’re a bit more eclectic up there, you know? Big city people are different than small town people, and Castiel is... awkward. I mean, I know he’s grown man, twenty-three, in college, really going somewhere in life, but... he has a hard time connecting, sometimes. I worry about him.” The camera cuts to Dean, throwing his head back in laughter at something Cas said, as Anna’s voiceover continues. “I’m relieved he and Dean are hitting it off so well. Cas could always use more people in his life, and Dean... Dean definitely needs someone he can confide in who isn’t, you know, a father or a brother figure for him.” Gabriel’s narration comes back as the camera cuts to Anna, bouncing excitedly as she surveys the living room.

“We’re about halfway through the first day now, and some real progress has been made.” Clearly tired, but making up for it in happiness, Anna gives Gadreel a salute as the man trudges out the front door with his bag, leaving the other four men in the room as she walks into the kitchen. She is pleasantly surprised to find that she can reach the sink with minimal effort.

“The counters were the easy bit,” one of Gadreel’s crew laughs. “Just had to scrape everything off the counter and into a bag. We got the middle of the floor squared away, all that’s left is the trash around the edge of the room and a deep clean of the fridge.”

“Fantastic!” Anna is all smiles as she looks around the room. “I’ll go ahead and call in Rufus Turner then, let him know that it’s clear enough to start setting traps for the few bugs there are.” Anna pours her self a glass of water, taking a moment to shake out her hair and re-do the ponytail it was in.

“We’re moving at such a good pace, Dean may even have a clean house buy tomorrow!” Anna’s exuberance shines through her smile as she fidgets excitedly in the confessional. “I’m just... Dean has given so much for this family, that to give him back the house so he and his brother can live safely seems the least we can do.” The crews attention is directed to the back door as Bobby kicks it open, covered in dirt and grease, holding one end of a large engine block while a similarly filthy Balthazar supports the other end.

“Oh good, you lot got the floor clear,” Bobby comments as he trudges across the room. Balthazar follows along awkwardly, his hold on the engine forcing him to walk at Bobby’s brisk pace. His longer legs do him no favors as he lags a bit under the weight of it.

“Jesus, Bobby, what the hell were you gonna do if they hadn’t?” Balthazar gripes, grunting as Bobby tugs on the engine block.

“Push on through all the crap, what else? Balthazar gapes at him for a moment in wide-eyed disbelief before he’s forced to stumble along after Bobby, his hold on the engine dragging him through the room as the other man keeps moving. On the way out the door, he shoots Anna a beseeching glance, nearly tripping over the stoop. Anna only laughs at him, waving him off as Bobby continues berating him.

“C’mon then, we got three more of these to carry out to the pick-up before I go get the tow-truck. I don’t wanna make any more trips than I gotta.” As the front door slams behind them, the camera in the living room still clearly picks up Balthazar’s resulting whine. Anna finishes off her water and head back down the hall. As she passes the bathroom door, she ignores Gabriel and his grumbling as he reaches back behind the sink for something in favor of ducking her head into Dean’s room to check on the last two boys.

“How’s everything going in here?” Dean and Castiel are obviously startled at Anna’s sudden appearance. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

“N-no, it’s fine,”Dean mumbles from where they sit with their backs to the door in the center of a much more manageable scattering of boxes, piles now no higher than two or three feet at any point save for a few tall stacks lining the left wall of the room. Unfortunately, there are still things piled on Dean’s bed, which is pushed flush against the far wall, leaving the window blocked and the room warm enough that both boys’ faces are flushed red as Dean hastily tosses a silk nightgown into the smaller of two piles behind him.

“And it’s good, it’s... it’s goin’ good.” Anna frowns at them.

“You boys look like you’ve been working a little too hard, actually. Let me get a fan in here, and I suggest the two of you take a water break. You look a little flushed, and I don’t want you guys overheating.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Cas coughs, getting to feet as Dean looks down at the box in front of them. “I’ll go get some water and bring it here. I’ll check on the fan, too.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean mumbles, already pawing through the next box.

“Hey, don’t push yourself too hard, Cas,” Anna calls after her cousin as he leaves the room. She receives an inaudible grunt in return, and sits down with a sigh in Cas’ vacant spot on the floor.

“He not quite as used to this sort of work as the rest of the crew is, since it’s rare for him to really get a break from school.” Anna explains with a smile. “I worry about him ending up overworked and overheated just because he’s trying to prove himself to the rest of the group, you know? But that sort of endurance just comes with practice. You’ll keep an eye on him for me, won’t you Dean?”

“I... what? Oh, yeah. Sure.” Dean gives Anna a wan smile, and she laughs.

“Alright, so. Tell me what you guy’s have going on in here?”

 

* * *

 

“Bobby Singer. How’s my favorite surly mechanic?” A set of shiny silver keys drops onto Bobby’s desk, clinking against the glass of whiskey sitting on the corner of the calendar. The man in question just grunts, eyes glued to the small TV mounted on top of a low bookshelf across the study.

“What, I don’t even get a hello? Or a gruff ‘git yer damn keys off mah desk?’” Bobby groans and faces his visitor.

“What do you want, V-neck.”

“Bobby, you wound me.” Balthazar puts the back of his hand to his forehead in a dramatic swoon. “I come all the way out here just to give you the honor of working on my old Camaro, and you won’t even call me by name.” He knows he’s said the right thing when Bobby sits up, at full attention.

“What year is it?”

“It’s a ‘69,” Balthazar grins, shifting and stepping back so he can lean all the way forward on Bobby’s desk, elbows on the wood and head perched daintily in his hands. “Bought from some dealer out in Nebraska, only to find out that despite it’s gorgeous body, it was busted all to hell on the inside. Though I might have you take a little look at it for me?” Bobby snatches up Balthazar’s keys from his desk.

“I take it you brought her with you?”

“Of course I did, Bobby, I’m not an idiot.”

“C’mon then. Anything to get you outta that stupid European shit you drive.”

 

##

 

“Yeah, I’m watching now,” Dean laughs, taking the opportunity to stretch out on the bed while Sam’s in the bathroom. “It’s... kind of surreal.” He smiles at the deep laughter on the other end of the phone, and he wraps the cord around his finger absent-mindedly as he talks.

“Those one-on-one’s with the camera are weird, too. I knew I’d be airing out pretty much all my business, but knowing is one thing and seeing is another.” Dean sighs into the receiver, thoughts drifting into more melancholy territory.

“Yeah, I know... but hey, you film pretty good, you know?” He lets out a laugh at the flustered response on the other end of the line. “Yeah, it’s scene in my room, with the uh... the nightgown...” This time it was Dean’s turn to blush. He had actually kept a lot of his Mom’s things, and not just to remember her by, but also because they were useful and, well... pretty. He had cut Sam off before, while his little brother was so astonished by Dean’s room being clean, so that maybe Sam wouldn’t notice just how... _feminine_ it looks now.

Another set of pretty curtains, peach this time, and a thin linen instead of lace, waft lazily with the autumn breeze rolling right over Dean's bed, pushed flush against the far wall and under the window.  The big wooden night table that was by his headboard has been replaced by a delicate looking metal nightstand, one a lot heavier and sturdier than it’s looks imply. It’s a good thing too, because when Dean found that kick ass rotary phone in his Mom’s things, he knew he had to keep it, rose decal and fancy brass trim be damned. He’d shined it up until it was mostly white again, the shiny brass filigree matching perfectly with the simple brass lamp that sits next to it on the table.

A little further down that same wall is his mother’s old vanity. The mirror had long since been shattered, but the pretty pine surface with the drawer and matching stool remain in good condition, so Dean is currently using it for his desk and hoping that the grease from the car parts he was working on there didn’t stain. The dresser that the TV sits on against the opposite wall was hers too, and Dean thinks that it and the vanity might’ve been part of a set, so similar is the wood.

The side of the room with the door is all new stuff though; there’s a modern, metal bookshelf from IKEA in the far corner by the closet, filled with a bunch of ratty old sci-fi and fantasy novels Dean found while cleaning. In front of it are a couple mis-matched beanbag chairs, angled around the blue area rug in the center of the room and in perfect position for guests to duke it out on the Wii Dean had bought secondhand and hooked up to the flatscreen. The space on the wall above the beanbags, between the shelf and the door, is filled with brightly colored posters: muscle cars, movie ads, retro pin-ups, anything and everything, you name it. Dean thinks he did a pretty good job dude-ing up the place. Well, at least that side of the room. It’s not like he’s embarrassed by the furniture he kept, but there’s definitely a prettiness to it that he’s just... not quite used to.

Dean pulls out of his musing and checks back into his phone conversation. He has to laugh, because yeah, the furniture was a sentimental save, but it was also something he could use. It was something that looked nice that he could put out in his room and be proud of when people came over, saying - these are my things. This is my dresser. This is my desk. My phone. My lamp.

The nightgown though... the reasoning behind _that_ “keep” was a little different.

 

_“It’s so soft,” Dean marveled at the fabric slipping through his fingers._

_“It’s good quality,” Castiel commented, feeling along the lace edging. “I imagine there’s nothing else she would rather have won during Kansas’ hot summer nights. Material like this is perfect for keeping cool, not only laying lightly on the skin but also exaggerating the feel of any air or wind moving around in the room. It also tends to make one feel... well,” Cas trailed off, with a wry smile, and Dean looked up with sudden interest. “Let’s just say the feeling of such smooth silk on your skin lends a certain... confidence.”_

_“You... have things like this?”_

_“I’ve a few pajama pants in similar material,” Castiel shrugged and hummed as he replied. “Nothing quite so feminine.”_

_“Oh,” Dean looked back the the nightgown, willing himself to put it into the pile with the makeup and most of the jewelry that would be donated to the thrift shop down the road. He had no use for it, not really. He would never... **could** never... but he was still reluctant to see it go._

_“Of course,” Dean’s attention shot back to Cas, who was staring at him with the strangest expression. His head was tilted slightly, like Dean was puzzle Cas was in the process of figuring out, and the look on his face - hell, the intensity in Cas’ eyes alone - had Dean pinned in place. “That’s just my preference. Should someone feel... like they might enjoy wearing something in this style,” Cas reached for the fabric in Dean’s lap again, keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s as he ran his fingers across the silk. “I would never begrudge him of his... desires.” Dean could feel his face heating up as he realized what Castiel meant, what he was saying was... actually okay for Dean to want. Nervous, he licked his lips before speaking, an old habit he had never quite managed to quit.  Cas’ eyes followed the movement closely._

_“I...” Dean started, suddenly unsure of the direction this conversation had taken._

_“You should keep it,” Cas murmured, and Dean can’t pinpoint when they had leaned in so close to each other._

_“How’s everything going in here?” He and Cas jumped apart when Anna made herself known in the doorway. Dean was only half aware that he was stammering out a response as he tossed the gown into the keep pile._

 

“I still can’t believe you just... _said_ that,” Dean laughs through his embarrassment. “I mean, I’d only know you for like, four or five hours, man.” He grins at the response he gets as Sam walks back into the room.

“Yeah, whatever buddy. Gotta go, Sammy’s back, and your cousin will literally kill me if I miss any more of this episode.” Sam looks at him curiously as Dean sits back up, uncurling the cord from around his finger.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Me... me too. Have fun at your party. Bye.” He clears his throat a bit as he hangs up the phone, resolutely staring at the TV and not making eye contact with his brother.

“You didn’t miss much, just a shot of us working on my room.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam side-eyes Dean suspiciously as he climbs back onto the bed. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just... one of the guys from the crew. He’s pretty cool, we might... I dunno, hang out or something.”

“Okay...” Sam settles back against his side, and Dean lets out a relived breath. “Has Bobby killed that Balthazar guy with physical labor yet?”

“No... not yet. Scrawny european bastard’s tougher than he looks.” Sam laughs, turning back to the screen, and Dean hopes his face didn’t just look as red as it does in the episode.

 

* * *

 

“We’ve been making pretty good progress,” Dean says, looking around the room at all the short stacks of boxes. The few taller ones along the wall are all marked with a blue post-it notes.

“What are the sticky notes for?” Anna asks, taking stock of the room. Dean looks confused for a moment, but catches on quick.

“These are all the boxes from rooms other than Mom’s. We’re just taking a quick glance in those, making sure there’s nothing of interest and putting them aside for trash.” Anna nods solemnly.

“So, you’re keeping a good portion of your Mom’s stuff, then?” Dean looks down, not meeting Anna’s eyes.

“Yeah, I uh... I know we’re supposed to be cleaning stuff out, but-”

“Oh no, you misunderstand!” Anna cuts him off quickly, waving her hands. “I’m so glad you’re hanging on to some things of hers!” Dean looks at her warily, and Anna smiles softly. “Dean, how many things in this house do you actually own? What here is yours?”

“I...” Dean bites his lips, fingers twitching in his lap as he searches for an answer. “I don’t... really, um... the Impala, I guess?” Anna reaches over and takes one of Dean’s hands in hers.

“Exactly. Dean, you’ve given so much of yourself to this family that you’ve sacrificed pretty much anything you might want for yourself. Even the Impala has become more of a necessity for you than a pleasure.” Dean looks away, licking nervously at his lip as Anna speaks, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Starting now,” Anna continues. “I want you to be comfortable with being selfish, with choosing and keeping things that you want for yourself even though you may not need them. This is the time for you to explore what you want, what you like, the time to find yourself and learn how you want to live. I know Bobby would be more than happy to step in when it comes to taking care of the domestic things, like finances and Sam-”

“Bobby’s already done so much for me,” Dean voice is low and hesitant as he chokes out the words. “I can’t ask him for more, I really can’t. It’s not his job to take care of my family-”

“Nor is it yours.” Dean and Anna both jump as the camera cuts to Castiel, leaning on the doorframe. “Dean, your father has foisted responsibilities off on you that you are neither equipped nor obligated to handle.” Dean starts to protest, but Castiel holds up one hand, silent and commanding, and Dean shuts his mouth.

“The formative years you should have spent establishing yourself, who you are, what you like, were instead devoted to your brother, making sure he was safe and fed and happy.” Castiel walks into the room with a sigh, sitting down next to Dean on the other side of the ‘keep’ pile. “You have a chance now to explore things for yourself, to have possessions of your own, to let Bobby - who would be more than happy to help - pick up some of the financial worries in exchange for the opportunity to move into adulthood as your own person, rather than ‘Sam’s brother.’ I strongly suggest you take it, for your own sake.” Dean holds Castiel’s stare for a few seconds, mouth working silently, before he utters a single, quiet ‘ok.’ Anna coughs into the silence that follows, trying to break the tension.

“Dean, you were old enough to remember your mother, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean is visibly relieved to be changing the subject, turning to Anna and grinning sheepishly. “I mean, Sam knows what she looks like from pictures and stuff, but... I remember what her laugh sounded like, what she smelled like when she held me close, how her nightgown felt under my hands when she picked me up and carried me to bed when I was half asleep...” His fingers trail wistfully over the silky fabric in the keep pile.

“Those memories are so important, Dean.” Anna reassures him. “And I want you to be completely comfortable holding on to anything that can keep them strong and fresh in your mind, even if you might not find a practical use for them in your own life.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean blushes, tightening his hold on the nightgown. “Right. I’ll... I’ll definitely try and keep that in mind then, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

“No, you’re not an idiot. You’re a _goddamned_ idiot,” Bobby growls, staring at the engine of the Camaro. “Did you even open the hood before you bought piece of junk?”

“Wouldn’t have done much good if I had, being that I don’t know shit about cars,” Balthazar drawls from where he’s perched on top of Bobby’s workbench. “Is it that bad?”

“The whole damn thing is gonna have to be redone,” Bobby sighs, closing the hood. He takes the rag Balthazar offers him and wipes the grease from his hands and forehead. “Can’t say for certain how long it will take, but I can fix her up for you.”

“You’re fantastic, Bobby,” Balthazar cheers, jumping up and gleefully wrapping his arms around the reluctant mechanic.

“Hey... hey! Come on, now,” Bobby pushes him away, but Balthazar is still smiling. “It’s gonna cost you a hell of a lot of money, you know that?”

“Of course, of course,” Balthazar waves the concern away like it was a bothersome insect. “Money is no issue. Just let me know how much you need, when you need it, darling. Now, forgive me, I have to jet back to Anna’s little ‘viewing party’ before she has a conniption.” Bobby parries Balthazar’s attempt at kissing his cheek with a flick of his greasy rag and a grunt, but Balthazar pays little mind.

“You have my number, just let me know what you need,” he yells as he jaunts down the drive and into his silver Audi, parked directly in front of Bobby’s fire hydrant.

“Pretentious fucker,” Bobby grumbles as Balthazar drives away, but a fond smile plays across his face as he wanders back into his study to watch the rest of the episode.

 

* * *

 

“The sun is starting to set on our first day of work here at Casa Winchester, and everyone is tired but smiling,” Gabriel’s voice plays over an exterior shot of the house, tinged a deep orange hue from the setting sun. “Inside, everyone meets in the living room huddle. Some covered in grease-” Bobby and Balthazar lean against the back wall of the room, laughing together and wiping their brows with filthy handkerchiefs. “-some coated in antiseptic-” Anna and Gabriel stand in the middle of the circle of people, Gabriel making a disgusted face at the sticky residue on his skin while Anna laughs, both snapping off their latex gloves. “-and others just bonedeep tired.” Gadreel and his crew have taken up spots on the floor all around the room, every man smiling and laughing as Dean, perched on the now clean desk, animatedly relays a story from earlier in the day. Cas stands by the hallway, smiling softly at the group.

“Unfortunately,” Gabriel’s voiceover continues. “The easy atmosphere was not meant to last.”

“Ah, s---,” Bobby swears as a set of lights shines through the window. Dean hops off the desk, guilt etched all over his face.

“What’s going on?” Anna questions nervously as the crew gets to their feet, taking their cues from Dean and Bobby.

“Dad’s back,” Dean supplies, wringing his hands. “You guys might wanna clear out. And quick. I don’t know how he’s gonna be about all this...”

“John was not happy about the house,” Anna tells the confessional sadly. “I knew it was going to be a problem, there’s a reason why we never do it this way. I got so caught up in helping Dean, I ignored the consequences I knew were going to come. I just...” The camera cuts to an exterior of the house, where the crew is reluctantly packing up the truck and John can be seen arguing with Bobby through the window. Dean storms out the front door and rounds the corner of the house, running his hands through his short hair as he paces anxiously along the side of the building. Anna and Gabriel share a concerned look, but it’s Castiel who steps away from the group and back towards the house to talk to Dean. Anna’s voiceover continues during the scene.

“I just hope we didn’t do more harm than we did good.” On screen, Gabriel and Anna sadly look back at the house in the quickly fading light. “I think we didn’t. I mean, we got two young boys their living space back-” The before images of the house are overlaid with the after, showing a nearly clear living room with just a bit of trash around the edges and an almost spotless kitchen, save for the old, crumbling table and chairs. The main bathroom is clean, tile wall sparkling and sink completely clear, with a neatly packaged first aid kit hanging on the wall. Dean’s room still has a few boxes, mostly post-it marked ‘junk’ stacks along the wall waiting to be thrown out, and three on the bed with kept things waiting to be put away. When the camera cuts back to the exterior shot, night has fallen and the argument inside the house seems to be over.

“We made a few new friends-” Bobby, stomps out the front door and towards his truck, beckoning Balthazar over with a gruff nod. He clasps the leaner man on the shoulder, and Balthazar pulls him in for a brief hug. As they pull away, Bobby hands him his card before getting into his truck, turning on the headlights, and pulling out of the drive.

“-and some of us, _well..._ ” The camera pans around the corner of the house where Dean had disappeared, finding two shadowy figures, barely recognizable in the quickly falling darkness, sharing a slow, hesitant kiss.

“Some of us might’ve found a little something more.” The headlights of the Saving Grace truck cut on, and the crew piles into the back. Castiel rejoins his cousins, and everyone gives one last wave to Dean, who now lingers at the front door until his father calls from him. As Dean vanishes into the house, the truck’s engine rumbles to life.

“Although we may have only had one day, I feel like so much has changed for the better in that house. I only hope that our decision to press ahead without John doesn’t result in bigger problems than we fixed.”

 

* * *

 

Anna screams as her cousin slams Gabriel against the wall.

“You let that air!” Castiel yells, hands shaking where they pin Gabriel in place. “I can’t believe you fucking let that air!”

“Cas, please-”

“Stay out of this Anna,” Cas keeps his right hand fisted in Gabe’s shirt as he swings his other arm around to point an accusatory finger at her. “You knew. You... you fucking _narrated_ it.”

“It was a good story, Cassie,” Balthazar tries to diffuse the situation, stepping up and placing his hands gingerly on the arm Cas has holding Gabe against the wall. “The producer is always looking for the best story angle, and she doesn’t care who gets caught in the crossfire. Place the blame where it’s due.”

“Bullshit,” Castiel hisses through gritted teeth. “He could have stopped her-” Gabriel lets out an amused snort, and Cas rounds on him again..

“You could have stopped her!”

“Have you ever tried telling Kali what to do?” he responds almost nonchalantly. “Give it a go, let me know how that works out for you. God forbid I want to keep my job-” No one expects the punch Cas looses straight into Gabriel’s face.

“Do you only ever think of yourself!” Castiel yells and cocks his left arm back for another shot. Balthazar steps in just in time, quickly moving around Cas’ back and hooking his arm around Cas’ elbow. It catches Castiel off balance and Balthazar swings him around and away from Gabe.

“For fuck sake, Cassie,” he pleads, gripping Cas’ tightly by the arms as he positions them face to face. “I could ask you the same thing. Will you calm down and _look_ at what you’re doing.” Cas has his response on the tip of his tongue, but Balthazar spins him around to face the rest of the room. Gabriel is sitting on the floor next to wall, swaying, with blood from his nose dripping through his fingers as they carefully explore his face, assessing the damage. Gadreel has already come back with a wet cloth, and is picking his way towards Gabe through the potato salad and chips littering the floor. Anna is crying on the other side of the upended coffee table, nervous eyes darting between Cas and Gabe like she’s waiting for one of them to take another swing. The chair Gabriel had been sitting in is broken, the cheap wood arms and legs and splinters scattered all over the hardwood of Anna’s sitting room floor. For a moment, Cas' anger wavers. Then the moment passes.

“You know, I _am_ thinking of myself,” his voice is low and heavy as he steps into the center of the room. “But I am also thinking of Dean, who had never been able to live for himself, agreeing to try something that he didn’t even know he was allowed to want. Dean, who lives with his asshole of a father, and who’s _fucking nineteen_ -” The mood of the room begins to change as Castiel speaks. Gabriel looks nervous now, even as he clutches his bloody cloth to his nose. Anna looks ashamed, and is fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Balthazar looks to Gadreel, who meets his gaze of increasing worry with a matching one.

“-and now, on _national fucking television_ ,” Castiel’s voice rises as he finishes, gesticulating wildly with his arms as he works himself into a fervor. “That thing that he wanted to explore, slowly and carefully and _privately_ , is on display for literally everyone in his life to see and dissect and judge, before he even has to the chance to learn how _he_ feels about it.” Silence falls heavy as he finishes, and no one quite dares to meet his eyes.

 

##

 

The credits roll in the bedroom and both boys stare blankly at the screen. Dean sits rigid, stiff as a board, and Sam’s once comforting presence at his side is now a source of increasingly oppressive anxiety as neither of them speak. The scene fades into the next show, the announcer of the competition recapping last week's episode, but the only sound Dean hears is the rapid beating of his own heart, nearly out of his chest, as panic swells slowly in his stomach. For a brief moment, the air is charged with nervous energy, strung tight like the string of a guillotine just waiting to cut it... or even, to snap on it’s own. Then the phone on the bedside table rings.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean moans, hands coming up to grip and pull at his short hair. “That’ll be Bobby... or, _fuck_ , it’s Dad _.._. it's fucking Dad.” His breath starts coming short and the room around him suddenly feels too tight, too small. The guillotine string snaps and he scrambles from the bed, nearly upending his brother in the process. He’s only half aware of Sam trying to speak to him as he rushes around, grabbing his bag and throwing some essentials in - underwear, a few shirts, another pair of jeans, some deodorant - while Dean continues mumbling more to himself than to Sam.

“-gonna be so fucking pissed, so I never said anything and I just thought that maybe, fucking _maybe_ , this was my chance, except they fucking caught us and of course they did it’s a goddamned TV show and it was _my fucking idea-_ ”

“Dean, will you just _stop!”_ Dean is caught off guard as his brother grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him around so they stand face to face. The look in Sam’s eyes is strange, one Dean can’t remember ever seeing. “Just... just stop for a second and talk to me, okay?” Dean wants to. He really, really does. Sam’s face is open and pleading, patented puppy dog eyes turned full throttle, and more than anything else Dean wants to know that Sam is okay with this, that Sam still loves him, that he’s still Sam’s cool, awesome older brother... but the phone is still ringing, and Dean can’t face whoever is on the other end of it.

“I... I can’t, right now, okay? I will, I promise, but right now I... I have to go. I just... have to fucking _think_ -”

“Okay,” Sam doesn’t let go right away, instead pulling Dean into a fierce hug. It dawns on Dean, as he clutches his little brother to himself almost desperately, just how much Sam really has grown. It won’t be much longer now, before Sam’s no longer the little one. Something in him is sad, but there’s something else in him that’s proud.

“You’ll be back, right?”

“I... maybe. I can’t promise-”

“Okay, just... be safe,” Sam whispers, and then Dean is down the hall and out the backdoor with keys clutched in his fist like they’re his only rope as he dangles from a cliffside.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he begs, sliding into the Impala.  His hands shake, and it takes three tries to get the keys in the ignition. “Please, do it for me, I need you to work for me this time baby, just this once, come on, _please-_ ”

When the engine turns over and a deep rumble fills the air and rattles the floorboards, Dean cries.


End file.
